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like I’m asking for much
, Laine told herself.
I just want to know where we stand.
    Despite her cardinal rule, she was almost prepared to read his mind deliberately: the uncertainty was eating at her, imposing significance on his every gesture. She was preoccupied, gnawing away at herself. It wasn’t until Solace read the prophecy out loud that Laine jolted back into the present, brought up short by the reference to
secrets all unsaid
. Of course it meant her; there could be no doubt. Even so, it was such an unsettling realisation that when Solace handed her the paper, she let her wards slip. It was only for a second, but that was more than enough time to gaze on the yearning loneliness that had dominated the vampire’s early life, brought to the surface through learning about her family.
    The more Laine’s Trick connected her to people, the more disconnected from them she felt, but that was quite a different species of isolation to what she gleaned from Solace. It shamed her.
    There had been something else in Morgause’s pages to cause her unrest, and demanded her continued attention: the naming of a place that had since become their destination.
The Rookery
. Thrills ran through her at the thought. She’d never been there, having only learned of its existence through the overheard thoughts of folk stranger even than her friends, and yet that fleeting reference had been enough to pique her curiosity. Despite what she’d told Evan, she knew what the word meant because she’d googled it after the first time she heard it mentioned. Had her search turned up anything that might have proved useful now, she would have come clean up-front – but it hadn’t.
    And now, here they were, moving forwards again, moving ever deeper into those strange troubles that Solace had brought with her. Laine didn’t mind – didn’t care, even, because although it had caused her problems, sooner or later, something always did. But meanwhile, there sat Evan, as cheerful outwardly as he ever was, but with his mind closed to her, offlimits, silent as clouds.

    ‘I hate Sydney streets,’ Jess muttered, not for the first time since leaving the house. ‘A pox on all town planners and their no right goddamn turn signs!’
    ‘Sweet sister, we understand,’ said Evan wearily. ‘We also comprehend, sympathise and generally agree. Now stop whining and find us a park!’
    ‘He says, as if it were the easiest thing in the world,’ Jess hissed, blasting the horn as she swore at a passing cyclist. ‘Dammit! Would
you
like to drive?
Don’t
answer that!’ she amended, as Evan opened his mouth.
    They were on George Street, driving at snail’s pace between each set of lights. The house was situated in Surrey Hills, and although they hadn’t needed to cover much distance, the exercise had proved overlong and frustrating. Still getting used to Sydney, Solace was hard-pressed to understand why driving through the CBD was so
hard
– an irritation caused largely by a veritable barrage of no right turn signs, most of which seemed to be situated at junctions where the objection to turning right was not so much based on the traffic flow as a desire to cause as much congestion as possible.
    ‘
Look
,’ Paige interjected crossly. ‘We’re nearly at Bathurst Street, anyway. Turn left there to turn right into Kent, and then we can park underground, seeing as the whole point of the exercise
is
to find parking.’ She sat back, apparently satisfied.
    ‘Fine!’ snapped Jess. Abruptly, the lights changed to green, causing the traffic to lurch forwards like a conga-line of drunks on a downward slope. Bathurst Street loomed large ahead, and before the lights could switch again, Jess flicked the indicator and veered sharply left. The right-hand turn into Kent came so swiftly afterwards that Solace wasn’t alone in feeling jarred.
    Miraculously, no other cars were interested in Kent Street at that particular moment, and Jess was able to slow down. As